


The Boy The Trees Claimed

by glorifiedscapegoat



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Faeries - Freeform, Familiars, M/M, Magic, No.6 Secret Santa 2020, Witches, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27938477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorifiedscapegoat/pseuds/glorifiedscapegoat
Summary: Shion knew better than to fear the stories―especially those surrounding witches. There were real dangers to fear in the woods, and these rumored creatures weren’t among them. The stench of the soldiers’ iron armor kept the Fair Folk from wandering too close. The haati had better things to do than stalk travelers through the night so close to mortal roads, and there was only a single witch in Kronos who had much better things to do than lure children away from their homes under cover of shadow.No.6 Secret Santa 2020 gift for shutup_1010
Relationships: Nezumi/Shion (No. 6)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	The Boy The Trees Claimed

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays, everyone! Here's to another wonderful Secret Santa in the No.6 fandom! Shutup_1010, I really hope that you enjoy it! This was a fun prompt to work with, and I hope everyone likes what I've done with it!

Most folks found the forests surrounding Kronos frightening. Old women and farmers recounted tales of faerie creatures that could transform wayward travelers into stone. Traveling merchants relayed stories of large wolves with gemstone eyes and silver muzzles materializing from the shadows at night and filling their dreams with terror until they found themselves straying from the path. The king’s men whispered stories to the girls they fancied that the spirits of slain witches haunted the trees, singing to children and luring them out into the winter woods to perish.

Shion knew better than to fear the stories―especially those surrounding witches. There were real dangers to fear in the woods, and these rumored creatures weren’t among them. The stench of the soldiers’ iron armor kept the Fair Folk from wandering too close. The _haati_ had better things to do than stalk travelers through the night so close to mortal roads, and there was only a single witch in Kronos who had much better things to do than lure children away from their homes under cover of shadow.

Said witch was currently trekking through the woods, fresh snow crunching beneath his boots. A hole in the right heel allowed the cold to seep through his wool socks and cause him small bursts of discomfort as he trudged through snow banks and into the heart of the oak trees.

Growing up surrounded by these same protective trees, Shion had learned which seasons were the safest for wayward travelers. The winter months erased the underbrush thieves and assailants might have used to conceal their tracks. Fresh snowfall revealed boot tracks where hunters had ventured in the early morning hours, as well as the distinct lack of animals to hunt. The gentle ruffle of wind fluttering through the trees would have carried any dangerous voices with it, but the silence that greeted Shion was a welcomed comfort.

He knew these woods better than anyone else in the tiny village of Kronos more than half a mile at his back. He’d always loved spending his time traveling through them―even in the years before his shift into early manhood when he’d manifested his abilities and connection with magic and made his silent, eternal vows as a green witch on the night of the Witches’ Moon―for the tangled branches created a gentle canopy that shut out the worst of the wind in the dead of winter and the harsh sunlight in the summer months.

Shion’s mother, Karan, told him stories in his youth about how there were some trees in the heart of the forest that had stood for thousands of years. Those trees rose well before the birth of magic, before the castles housing the king’s cruel family seized the land and drove out the Folk that had once called it home. Something like magic protected these several trees from the axes of hunters, shattering the iron and stone into fragments the moment the blade connected with their solid trunks. Fire never harmed their bark or their leaves.

Unable to eradicate these trees from the world and utilize their resources, the king’s family opted to forbid entrance to the forests. These trees housed ancient magic, and this magic couldn’t be harnessed in any capacity. Even a witch like Shion―who could sense the ancient energy dwelling within―had no skill to pull the magic from these branches and make use of it. And even if he had such an ability, Shion wouldn’t have dared such cruelty.

There was magic in this world that even witches had no right to utilize.

Ancient creatures that observed the world around them without interfering.

Shion had no interest in angering such creatures. The trees in these forests would be standing long after the king’s family rotted out of this world and their stone castles crumpled into nothingness. The roots buried deep in the ground sent trickles of natural magic into the surrounding plants, filling them with life without transforming them into magical essence. Those without Shion’s ability to sense magic would never have known there was anything amiss until they attempted to chop a tree down and found such a task pointless.

Shion kept walking into the heart of the forest, heedless to the warnings and restrictions of the king’s men. Shion’s dark gray cloak blended into the clouds and graying sky, and those who might have seen him drift into the thick copse of trees would have been too terrified of his rumored wrath to risk a journey to the king’s men. And even if the king’s soldiers had begun a search for him in the forests, Shion would have sensed them coming a mile away and concealed himself properly to wait them out. The king’s men wouldn’t think anything of a squirrel curled in the nook of a tree or a snowy owl glaring down at them from a tall branch.

Shape-shifting magic was a skill Shion had no strong talent for, but he trusted his own abilities enough to hide himself from the king’s men for a few hours. His body ached at the thought that such a blatant use of power might be necessary, but if it would allow him to survive another day, he was willing to take the risk and drain himself.

Shion had made this trek many times over the past few weeks. He memorized the path to the point that he knew he could find his way to this single tree in the heart of the woods even with his eyes closed. His feet carried him swiftly through the snow, leaving a trail that the wind (and just a brush of magic) erased.

Across a small creek running through the forest, whose trickling had gone silent beneath the late winter frost, a large oak tree stretched high into the ground. This was one of those trees Shion’s mother had spoken of in his youth―a tree that Shion had been coming to for weeks and making offerings before in the name of summoning a familiar.

The river of ice created by the creek supported Shion’s weight as he stepped across it slowly. On his first trip to the forest’s heart, following the tug of magic that bound him, Shion had stepped onto the ice with all the eagerness of a child… only to end up tumbling face-first onto the ground and smashing his chin against the surface. The force had knocked loose a tooth, and it’d taken Safu a few solid minutes to stop laughing at him long enough to help dab the blood that came from his split lip.

Shion’s heart warmed at the thought of his friend―his _only_ friend―back in Kronos. Safu knew of Shion’s magical prowess and had vowed herself to silence, even under threat of death from the king’s soldiers. In addition to Karan, Safu was the only other mortal being in this world who knew of Shion’s vows under the Witches’ Moon, and though she hardly understood the abilities that manifested themselves in Shion’s life, she supported his decisions and his livelihood due to their close-knit friendship.

He knelt in front of the tree, as he had every day for the past few weeks, and began drawing the ancient symbols into the snow before him. He’d written them so many times now that they came quickly; the words he understood only due to his magical connection spilling out on the snow in front of him, his bare finger carving them deep into the snow and leaving only an echo of their presence once he’d finished.

The summoning ritual for familiars was a deeply personal ritual, differing from witch to witch. Shion had only learned this from his limited time spent studying magic under cover of night, sneaking into the Forbidden Library beneath the soldiers’ noses and stealing away with information kept only in his mind. Witches and magic were forbidden by the king’s own declaration, but books detailing their rituals were stored in the basements of the castle library to ensure that magic could never rise up and overtake the kingdom without knowledge on how to prevent it. The king had been so certain of his own eradication of the magical arts that hiring a mage to erect wards had clearly never occurred to him. Stealing away into the library shaped like a common mouse had been a simple task for someone of Shion’s caliber, though he’d left the books in place and simply memorized their contents rather than stealing them away for his own usage.

Shion’s summoning rituals had been unsuccessful in his many attempts. He’d spent countless hours in the middle of the wintry woods, his fingers freezing to the point of painful numbness, whispering pleas to the creatures surrounding him and hoping that his familiar would finally, finally reveal itself to him.

He focused on the symbols displayed before him, the chill of winter seeping through his cloak and into his bones. He ignored the mundane discomfort creeping its way into his body and willed his racing heart to calm. His familiar might sense his anxiety and refuse to reveal itself to him―as it had since the moment this year’s winter began.

As he knelt in the snow, something happened around him. The wind seemed to slow, the branches whispering silently as if commenting on his failed attempts and his stubbornness at trying again. The snow began to crackle as the warmth from his body and clothing began to melt the pristine white crystals beneath his knees.

Shion looked down at the glimmer of the snow forming the symbols beneath his hands. The tips of his fingers were pale white and prickling painfully from the cold. He exhaled, his breath puffing around him in coils of silver as he shut his eyes and allowed the image that rose up in front of his mind’s eye to overtake him.

The dreams that consumed him were about this same forest, bathed in the soft glow of spring rather than the harsh snap of winter. There was a boy with hair as dark as ink that tumbled down his back like a waterfall. He sprinted through the forest, laughing in rich tones that echoed through Shion’s bones and filled him with a sense of wonder and happiness he hardly experienced in the waking world.

In those dreams, Shion chased the boy down, understanding instinctively that this boy was the representation of his familiar. According to the stories in the books he’d read, familiars could often appear as human in their initial dreams, concealing their true form from their master until the moment the witch conjured them forth. He sprinted nightly through the spring-brightened forests, guided only by the flashes of the boy’s pale skin and the dark flicker of his hair.

His breath rushed out of him as he pursued the boy. His face remained always out of sight, shapeless and pale in a way that Shion couldn’t comprehend. Nothing else mattered in those dreams. The forest with its ancient trees didn’t matter. The king’s men with their sharpened blades and witch-hunting desires bled away into nothingness when Shion dreamed of the boy.

And yet, as Shion knelt in the snow, waiting as the sun steadily began to arc across the sky and nestle downward into the arms of the tree branches, turning from buttery yellow to dark gold, Shion’s familiar remained painfully out of reach.

Shion felt a cold snap rush through him, and it drew him back from the strange sense of sorrow he felt wash over him every time he began these rituals and failed to gain a response. He drew his hands into his lap and exhaled, his breath rushing out of him and leaving his lungs aching.

It was moments like these that, if Shion hadn’t used magic to change his shape and conceal himself from the prying eyes of the king’s men, he would have started to suspect he was little more than a hedge witch.

Hedge witches were tolerated in Kronos simply due to the amusement they provided to the pious. The king’s men allowed them to practice their “craft” and spout their nonsensical words for a few days before swooping in and dragging them off to the king’s dungeons. A real witch like Shion could poke holes in the logic of their statements and the inaccuracies of their stories, but Shion knew better than to draw attention to himself in such a way.

As a child, Shion used to ask his mother in-depth questions about the words the hedge witches spouted on the street corners, as their stories piqued his general curiosity, but Karan quieted him in public. In the privacy of their home as they cooked dinner, Karan told him that questioning such things aloud might draw the king’s attention to him. When his magic manifested, Karan pleaded with Shion to avoid the hedge witches at all costs. This came in the form of avoiding them as if they carried some form of plague, tolerating the whispers the villagers shared, and standing by helplessly as the king’s men hauled the shrieking men and women off to the dungeons.

Shion exhaled and forced himself to his feet. He swept his foot through the symbols, breaking the summoning spell and scattering the ice crystals against the trunk of the ancient tree.

Another day of disappointment.

He tucked his bare hands beneath his arms―he had no spare coins to purchase gloves―and took a few moments to let the cold winter wind settle around him and give him something else to focus on.

Summoning a familiar was a stage each witch needed to reach at some point in their lives. The older one grew, the harder it became to summon one. According to the books on magic Shion had read over and over again throughout the spring and summer months, once a witch began having dreams about their supposed familiar, it would be imperative to summon that familiar before the season passed. If a familiar wasn’t summoned in that time, the window of opportunity would grow slimmer and slimmer until there was no chance the witch could ever conjure their familiar.

Shion had no way of knowing if the dreams he’d been having were dreams of his familiar, for there were no other witches he could ask. His mother had no talent for magic, and Shion’s father was as absent and unknown as the creatures the villagers of Kronos feared in the darkness. Desperation clawed at Shion’s stomach, and he cursed.

The trek back to Kronos was cold and miserable. Shion had no plan for what he would have done if his familiar-summoning ritual had been successful, but he figured he could tackle that problem as soon as it arose. He could conceal his familiar with magic until he returned home, and then he and Karan could brainstorm a way to keep the king’s men from discovering the creature. Shion prayed his familiar would be something small like a mouse or a sparrow, but knowing his luck, he’d summon something like a wolf or a deer.

Shion pressed his lips together as he hurried through the darkening woods, unafraid of being intercepted by the king’s men. He was frustrated enough that if someone carrying a sword were to jump out at him, he’d turn them into a toad and worry about the consequences later. He’d never attempted a transformation spell on another being, but he supposed there was a first time for everything. What was one missing soldier?

He dismissed the thought immediately. Taking someone away from their family―even someone as cruel as the soldiers the king employed―felt cruel and unnatural. These men had ruined families and punished those who had done nothing to deserve that punishment, but the thought of widowing their wives and potentially orphaning their children made Shion’s stomach churn with disgust. He shook the thoughts away and continued to trudge through the snow and back toward Kronos. At his back, the winter wind erased the indents of his knees and the scrape of his fingers, scattering his failure into the surrounding snow banks.

**⁂**

Kronos yawned open in front of him as Shion slipped back into the boundaries of the village, sneaking in around the “watchful” eyes of the king’s soldiers stationed at the main gate. Several columns of smoke rose from the roofs of houses bunched close to the castle in the distance. A narrow path banked toward the far end of Kronos, leading toward the district where Shion and his mother lived in their small cottage. Shion banked away from the path and ventured toward the innermost district, where the sounds of men and women bustling about in the streets echoed.

Inside the low stone wall that marked the edges of the village, row houses huddled together like a crowd of gossiping women. The close assemblage of houses suggested that this closeness would keep away the cold of winter. Hooded figures bustled around from one house to the next, chattering to each other and ignoring Shion as he ducked into their midst and headed toward the middle of the makeshift marketplace.

The marketplace of Kronos was nothing more than a long stretch of loose cobblestones where the roads connecting to the districts met. It was crowded and noisy in the early evening, Men in farmer’s clothes and women with children tucked in at their sides haggled with merchants over bolts of cloth and loaves of bread.

Shion made a beeline for one of the clothing stalls. He himself had no need for or interest in new clothing, but his friend Safu stood behind the booth, doling out mittens and scarves to a couple of smiling newlyweds.

Once the newlyweds tripped off into the crowd, holding hands in that way older couples in Kronos seemed to have forgotten, Safu met Shion’s eye and waved him over with a smile. In the shadows of the approaching evening, Safu looked exhausted and aggravated, dark circles under her eyes and a pinch in her brow that only came when she had a severe headache.

“Long day?” Shion stepped in beside Safu in the booth and reached for the piles of fabric laid out before her. Hours of being rifled through by wandering hands had made them messy and unkempt, and Shion made quick work of organizing the piles and straightening them out.

Safu exhaled, her breath puffing out in a rush of silver. “You have no idea.” She stole a glance around the marketplace, and upon seeing no one eavesdropping or paying them any manner of attention, she leaned in close and whispered, “I don’t see an animal with you. Was it…?”

“Unsuccessful,” Shion lamented.

Safu clicked her tongue. “Perhaps tomorrow will be the day.”

She’d been saying that every single evening that Shion had returned without success.

Had today been less emotionally draining for him, Shion might have playfully pointed out the fact that she’d repeated those same words to him many times and he doubted he would be successful in the morning. He didn’t have the energy to laugh about it now. Shion exhaled and leaned against the wall of the booth.

He toiled away at Safu’s booth, struggling to erase the thoughts of yet another failed summoning. He allowed himself to drift away under the sound of Safu’s voice as she began the slow process of closing up her booth for the evening. Her grandmother crafted the fabric swatches lovingly by hand, and Safu spent her days in the market selling them to the public to make ends meet.

As the sun slowly began to sink beneath the horizon, Shion helped Safu pack up her booth and escorted her back to the small cottage where she and her grandmother lived. The anxiety that had plagued Shion’s mind in the hours following his failed summoning ritual had began to fade away the longer he remained in his friend’s presence; as soon as she bid him goodnight, gave him a hug, and ducked inside the warmth of her cottage, that anxiety came flooding back, leaving a deep pit of dread pooling in the center of his stomach.

In the first few nights after his vows beneath the Witches’ Moon, Shion had nightmares―visions of fire overtaking the fields and great gray waves washing the king’s castle away. Smoke filled his nostrils as a faceless creature with shocking silver eyes emerged from the darkness, and worst still was the sense that Shion had nothing to fear from this monstrous creature.

Shion pressed his lips into a line and shoved the thoughts aside. They did him no good. For as long as he’d been alive, there had never been a chance that he would make a pact with a creature capable of such destruction. His attempts at summoning a familiar were proving difficult. How could anyone expect Shion to form an alliance with something as powerful as the creature that haunted those dreams?

It wasn’t until his mother’s cottage loomed into view that Shion began to feel any sense of warmth again. The sun dipped beneath the line of thick trees, bathing the sky in a beautiful glow of red and gold. Shion looked westward with a deep sigh. Another day wasted.

A wilting wreath of dead berries and broken twigs hung on the front door, a testament to the winter rituals and a simple sign that Karan recognized the king as the supreme power in Kronos. At least on the outside.

Shion knocked the snow from his boots before entering. He could have used magic to dry the wet sensation from his socks, but he felt too drained to risk the use of magic now. The dread that claimed him receded beneath the warmth tucked inside Karan’s kitchen. Shion forced a smile on his face and slipped his cloak from his shoulders before heading in to greet his mother.

Karan stood in the middle of the small section in the cottage dedicated to entertaining. A plush chair with a knit cover (crafted from Safu’s hand, with guidance from her grandmother) sat against the far wall, a comfortable fire crackling in the hearth.

His mother’s pale lips drew back into a massive grin as Shion stepped into view. “Welcome home,” she called, her soft voice filling in the frozen gaps in Shion’s soul. “How did it go?”

Shion’s heart hitched; the smile on his face wavered.

Karan was far too skilled at reading her son’s expressions. Even without any connection to magic, she could sense things. She gestured for Shion to come closer into the room. “Oh, darling,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I know how much this means to you.”

Shion blinked back a small rush of tears.

Karan’s dark brown eyes softened as she approached him. She reached out and tugged a lock of Shion’s dark brown hair, a near mimicry of her own. “I’m certain you’ll be successful in the morning. Just have faith. It sounds like your familiar is desperate to meet you.”

Shion smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wished he could return the sentiment―that the following morning would bring about the success he’d been so desperately seeking for the better part of several weeks―but the thoughts slipped away from him the longer he dared to hope.

Karan had no understanding of how the familiar summoning rituals worked. She thought she had some knowledge from what Shion had told her, but without a connection to magic, she couldn’t hope to comprehend the desperation that flooded Shion’s veins when he made his attempts. She couldn’t understand how miserable it made him to risk attempt after attempt and return empty-handed. She couldn’t understand how lonely the thought of never summoning this creature made him, and how terrified he felt that he’d already missed his chance.

The longer the days drifted by, according to the stories, the harder it would be for him to conjure his familiar. If the dreams faded or, heaven forbid, stopped completely, then Shion wondered if such a task would even be possible.

His stomach churned with terror and self-loathing, but Shion tried to keep all traces of it off his face. Without a word or a glance back, he hugged his mother, and then headed for the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

**⁂**

Shion busied himself until late in the evening by cooking dinner, chatting with his mother, and then bidding her goodnight as she went off to sleep. He hurried to the kitchen and set his boots beside the door, straightened his cloak on the hook, and let the glowing embers in the fireplace dim until there was hardly any light left the inside of his cabin.

He listened to the sounds of his mother’s breathing evening out, waiting patiently for the world outside their shared cottage to melt away into the calm silence of midnight.

But even laying in the comfort of his own bed, Shion couldn’t escape the echo of failure that sang in his blood. The dread that came with realizing his dreams would continue to haunt him if he let himself fall asleep tonight, unsuccessful once again, was enough to keep his eyelids from closing and his mind from relaxing.

As the moon crept into the middle of the sky, casting strange silver light around the world, Shion found that sleep would no longer come to him. He shoved the blankets off himself and gathered his cloak and boots, pulling both of them on. His numb fingers trembled as he tucked his hands into the security of his cloak and silently slipped out into the late night air.

Shion trudged silently into the snow, his heart pounding, echoing in his ears as he ducked into the darkness of the thick forests. The moonlight cut out, plunging him into complete and utter darkness.

Those who feared the forests during the day definitely feared them at night. Backlit by the sinister brightness of the moon in any shape, the trees rose like great blackened teeth into the dark blue sky. Pale stars flecked the cavernous expanse, each one a single glowing eye that bore down on Shion as he nudged branches out of his face and followed the slow pull of magic back toward the ancient tree.

Behind him, the houses of Kronos hulked like fat crows. The king’s men wandered around with their small lanterns, little specks of gold in the darkness. Shion didn’t fear them spotting him as he bled into the heart of the forest. The cover of night concealed him as well as a wave of magic, and Shion had better things to do than concern himself with the king’s men and their pathetic nightly rounds.

Shion stepped silently over the frozen moss, avoiding the thorny bushes that reached for him. The forest was silent in the dead of night, winter lulling all to sleep.

The moon hung overhead, casting its judgmental light down around him.

Once he reached the tree, Shion’s steps became even more cautious. He tiptoed over the icy creek and positioned himself back in front of the tree. The remnants of his failed ritual lay before him―fingers dragged through the snow to erase hastily-drawn symbols meant to summon a creature. The sight of it, cold and bathed in darkness, sent pangs of misery through Shion’s heart.

He sank back to the ground and smoothed the snow out with a brush of his bare hand. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and froze to his cheeks as he let them fall. He felt queasy as he drew the symbols in the snow again, wondering if there was even a point in trying again. The moon’s light lanced through the slots in the branches, illuminating the silver snow just enough for Shion to shape the symbols and give physical form to his pleas.

A familiar tugging sensation urged him to keep still and send all his thoughts and prayers to whatever ancient being was listening. His heart hammered away in his chest, his throat tightening as the cold wind brushed around him.

Beneath the bone-white of the midnight moon, Shion sent another desperate plea to his familiar and hoped that this time, his ritual would yield results.

The cold dust of winter drifted around him, chilling him to the core. Shion kept his eyes stubbornly closed, fighting back the frustrated sobs that wanted so desperately to break free. He caged them behind his clenched teeth, focusing to the point of pain on his desires. He wanted to summon his familiar.

The dreams that clung to him even in his waking mind came back to him, then. A boy with dark hair sprinting joyfully through the forests. It was always spring in those dreams, but according to the books, once the dreams began, a witch had only until the following season before they ceased. Had that been a false truth embedded in parchment that had been otherwise truthful?

Shion’s breath puffed out in a ragged gasp; he squeezed his eyes shut, a few tears springing free of his lashes and trickling down to the slow below. He could hear them strike the crystals, as solid as stones.

A great shadow loomed over him, and Shion realized it was little more than the ancient tree he’d thrown himself before. He could feel it pressing down around him, its ancient power settling over him like a cloak and shoving him into the ground. The pressure on his body was great, but still Shion sat on his knees, eyes closed, pleading to ancient beings that clearly had better things to do than take pity on a witch who couldn’t even properly summon his familiar.

Shivers forced their way through his body, an involuntary response to the cold and to his own failure. A choked sob broke from his throat, and Shion curled his hands into his cloak to warm them as he once again sat to face his failure―

“There you are.”

Shion’s head snapped upright at the silky voice that lanced through the winter night.

He wasn’t certain what forced him to lift his eyes and gaze into the tree branches rather than into the tree trunk―years later, he would realize that it was the connection that compelled him to find the source of the pulling, to look skyward and welcome the creature that had conjured itself in response to his desperate calls.

Looking up into the branches of the trees, Shion spotted a pair of bright silver eyes peering back at him from the shadows. A beautiful young man reclined against the trunk of the tree, his dark hair settling over his shoulders like spilled ink.

He looked wild and haunting, dressed in all black, like a bird of prey that couldn’t be tamed. Shion felt his breath rush out in a single gasp as the dreams came flooding back to him all at once: a boy sprinting through the woods, laughing as Shion merrily hurried after him. The images congealed into a single thought before bursting like snowflakes and dissipating into the darkness.

There was no longer a need for those dreams.

The boy looked like no one else in Kronos, like the purple glow at the base of a flame, the most beautiful and most dangerous being Shion had ever laid eyes on. Something in the pearl-pale color of his skin and the darkness of his hair made Shion realize he was anything other than human―something far closer to divine. The young man peered down at him from the darkness, his silver eyes sharp as blades, cutting through Shion’s flesh with a single look.

“It’s about time,” the young man remarked. His voice was strong and smooth, music that sang to Shion’s blood and made the chill inside his bones vanish. “You’ve been trying to summon me for some time.”

“I… I have.”

The young man’s eyes flashed, his thin eyebrows raised. Shion felt a wave of embarrassment. What was he supposed to say in this situation? He’d been anticipating it for weeks― _years_ , even―and now that the opportunity presented itself to him, he found he didn’t have the words to respond properly.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Shion said with a bright smile. “My name’s Shion.”

“I’m aware.” The young man stretched on the tree branches, straightening his spine. From his spot in the tree, it was difficult to see just how tall he was, though Shion suspected they would be similar enough in height once the young man descended.

Shion’s heart clenched, heat rising to his cheeks. He pressed his hands against them, the cooling sensation from the snow chasing away the warmth. The tips of his numb fingers prickled as the rush of heat brought the sensation back to his limbs.

The young man in the tree branches gave a soft laugh, and that alone sent another swarm of butterflies loose inside Shion’s stomach.

There was an odd sound, and as Shion looked up, the young man detached himself from whatever held him in the tree and dropped down to the ground before him without a sound. The movement was calm and elegant, like a hawk swooping silently from the skies to snatch up an unsuspecting mouse. He landed in the snow without so much as a crunch, and all at once, Shion found himself less than a foot away from the boy he’d desperately chased in his dreams.

Heat came flooding back to his face. Shion’s fingers trembled as he urged himself not to spring back in surprise; instead, he forced himself to hold the young man’s haunting silver gaze, peering into those beautiful, inhuman eyes.

They seemed almost fashioned of stained glass. Beneath their pale surface, storm clouds churned and rose to kiss the silver panes before sinking back beneath. No one would have been foolish enough to assume these eyes belonged to a mortal creature, and in them, Shion could see the desire to watch the world around him burn.

And yet, these eyes did not belong to an evil being. The urge for chaos might have been there, but Shion knew without words that the chaos this creature sought was destined to bring about the sort of positive change the world needed. A necessary rebirth, a phoenix rising from the ashes of a brutal battle between magic and oppression.

“You’re not an animal.” The words sounded stupid coming from his lips, but they were out well before Shion could cage them.

The young man’s delicate eyebrows raised in surprise. “I’m not,” he replied. His tone rose as if in question, and it took Shion a moment to realize the young man was mocking him.

He flushed, embarrassed, but though the young man’s tone revealed his intention to tease Shion’s rather foolish statement, there was no hostility in it. Shion’s heart clenched at the familiarity of the gesture.

“No, clearly not,” Shion said with a gentle laugh. “It’s only that, I… thought familiars were meant to be animals.”

“For weaker witches, yes.” The young man’s silver eyes caught in the moonlight, glinting like the edge of a sword. “But I think we both know you’re not a weak witch, now, don’t we?”

Shion’s body sang as the words washed over him. Prickles of gray and red blurred the edges of his vision, tunneling it until all he could see was the young man before him. Dressed in black as he was, he seemed like some shadowy god that had stepped forth from the bowels of the earth, called forth by Shion’s desperate calls.

“Nezumi,” the young man said, and it took Shion a moment to realize that it was a name.

 _His_ name.

Shion had been handed an immeasurable gift. The name danced on the edge of his tongue, swam through his veins, settled in the core of his heart and spread through every inch of his being.

“Hello, Nezumi,” Shion whispered.

Nezumi’s silver eyes glinted in the darkness. The moon had begun to dip toward the thick cluster of trees surrounding them on all sides, cutting out the memory of Kronos lingering in the distance.

“Why now?” Shion asked.

“Hm?”

“Why did you appear now?” Shion’s fingers flexed in his cloak. He resisted the urge to reach out to the boy crouching before him and burying his fingers in his long, unbound hair. The strands glittered in the moonlight, so sharp that Shion wondered if it would slice his fingers to the bone if he dared. “I spent so many days calling you…”

“Hmph, yes, you did.” Nezumi cocked his head to the side. “But the veil can’t be crossed during the daylight.”

Shion cocked his head. “But, the dreams I had always took place during the day.”

“I don’t know about dreams. But what I do know is that the moonlight is where we gain our powers. As creatures of shadow, a witch’s powers are at their strongest during the night.” Nezumi’s lips quirked upward at Shion’s answering silence. “Don’t tell me you were unaware of that.”

“I’m self-taught,” Shion muttered.

Nezumi huffed out a laugh. His breath puffed forth in a cloud of silver smoke, and the gesture was so shockingly human that Shion couldn’t help but laugh, too. “A self-taught witch. Just my luck.” He drifted his hand through the air between them. “When you first attempted the call, a barrier rose that prevented me from responding to it. It was frustrating. You kept coming back and knocking, but you left before I could answer.”

Shion winced, despite the lack of bite in Nezumi’s words. “If I’d known I was supposed to summon you at night, I would have done it. It wasn’t fun trekking out here every morning.”

“I’d imagine not. Especially with holes in your boots.”

“How did―?” Shion’s face burned at the sharp laugh that broke free from Nezumi’s throat. It seemed he was destined to keep walking right into the middle of Nezumi’s teasing. Despite the constant waves of embarrassment, Shion found that he didn’t mind it as much.

A moment of silence lapsed between them, comfortable and strange in a way Shion couldn’t place. It felt as if a portion of his soul had finally slotted into place, drawn forth from whatever strange realm Nezumi had once called home. As the night continued to creep onward, a thousand questions rose to the forefront of Shion’s mind. What was Nezumi, if not an animal? Power coursed through his veins; rather than an animal, it was clear that Nezumi was some sort of fae creature―a frost child or a plant-dwelling elf or some other creature of immeasurable power. But what Nezumi truly was beneath the surface didn’t matter. As Shion crouched in the snow before his familiar, the frost fluttered out of his body. His heart sang and his anxieties fluttered away, caught in the wind and scattered about.

Shion sat in front of his familiar, the companion who’d answered his desperate calls, and for the first time since he’d taken his vows beneath the Witches’ Moon, he didn’t feel alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on Tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


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